"Weird dreams?"

Tamako had picked up Fumi from school today, so they walked their way home to Sumiredoori Shopping District.

Fumi would be in his fourth grade this year, being ten years old. Tamako, being nineteen, had graduated from high school last year. Opting not to attend colleges, she took over the Restaurant.

"They're not like nightmares, just..." Fumi murmured, running a hand through his hair as he started thinking back, "there's this girl... and they're in a really, really big hall. Like, there were red carpets, spotlights, trophies and everything."

"Like a prize giving ceremony?"

"Yeah, like the huge ones we see on TV. There were like, chandeliers!"

He stopped walking. Tamako turned around, confused. Fumi lifted his left hand, staring at the back of his palm.

"The strange thing about it was that," he paused his sentence, and showed Tamako his hand-- "she had this burn scar too."

It wasn't strange for abandoned children to have scars.

Sometimes it was from stray dogs. Maybe they were beaten up by adults for stealing, or they caught up in some debris and gained suspicious scars.

When Tamako found him, Fumi had a strange burn scar on his left hand, spilling largely across the back of his palm like a muted fire tattoo. The discoloration it caused to his skin made it stand out, but no one really paid it much mind.

Even Fumi wasn't too sure when he had gotten it. As far as the child himself understood, he'd had it from the start.

Who was the girl in his dream? She didn't look like anyone he knew. Why was she important? Had he seen that lady before? Why was he having dreams of her? She didn't hold any physical resemblance to him, so they couldn't be related. Yet, they had the same scar...

How strange.

-

"Hey, this is delicious. Hey old man, let's put this into the menu!"

"Huh? Hey, Fumi! Stop altering our dishes!"

Fumi sipped the tea soup from the rice bowl, reveling in the salty, deep warmth. It was winter, so this was perfect for the season. He turned to Uncle Yukihira and smiled, all innocent.

"Isn't it fine, he's not serving it to the guests," Tamako tried to ease the situation.

"My furikake-gohan was fine as it was!" Uncle Yukihira pointed the ladle at him.

Fumi sipped on the tea again, watching the banter.

"Where on earth did he even get the tea?" Uncle Yukihira threw his arms up in exasperation, angrily sauteeing the fried noodles in the pan.

"They call this Ochazuke, right? I've had some in the izakaya downtown," Tamako dipped her spoon in to steal a bite, "hmm! It goes so well with the mackerel!"

"When the heck did you get the mackerel!"

The customers in the restaurant laughed as Fumi calmly enjoyed his meal on the counter, munching slowly as he ate, entirely focused on his creation.

"Hmm, maybe Salmon would work better, or sea bream..." he mumbled to himself, "and along with the seaweed furikake, maybe seaweed tea..."

"He's already revising the recipe!"

Uncle Yukihira was ready to bust a vein right there. First came his own daughter who was one genuine bull in the China shop that burned everything she apparently touched, then came this wild horse that strived to change everything about his dishes when he felt like it! Can't he have an obedient child for one minute?

"I wonder if there's a way to make Salmon as crispy as a biscuit."

"Can you just keep quiet and eat your food."

-

"That lady in your dream, do you know her name?"

Tamako took the plate from the kitchen counter, dropping it off at the customer's table before stepping back in to hear the response.

"Nuh-uh," Fumi shook his head. Taking an egg from the counter, he cracked it with one hand and let it sizzle on the oiled pan, "but she was getting an award for a cake."

"Cake?" Tamako echoed, surprised.

Tamako wasn't the biggest fan of anything too sweet, but she was always open for tastings of Fumi's creations. This was the first time she had ever heard of prizes for foodstuff of any kind.

"An award-winning cake... I only caught a glimpse of it, but it was super, super pretty," Fumi said with a glint of awe in his eyes, "I wonder how it would taste?"

"I'm interested too," Tamako sighed, "it'll definitely be more delicious than that egg you're frying."

"Huh... oh no, it's burning!"

As Fumi scrambled to save the egg, Grandma Kiyo chuckled from her seat on the counter.

"It sounds awfully like an old story I've heard..." she began to reminisce, "about seeing vague, repetitive dreams of a person you don't recognize."

Eyes were turned to her.

Grandma Kiyo sipped her tea, calmly continuing her mildly eerie story, "they say that if you don't hold any hints of a resemblance to that person... they may possibly be your fated counterpart."

Fumi blushed. Tamako looked about three times more interested.

"Ah," Grandma Kiyo corrected herself, "but if you do resemble them in any way... then perhaps, that person was your past incarnation."

Fumi looked at the scar at the back of his hand-- and suddenly it all made sense.

"Hey, did you hear that, Nee-chan?" he jumped, excitedly, "my past life was an award winning patissiere! That's so cool!"

"Wooah!" Tamako responded with a tone of amusement, usually used to entertain the child,, "does that mean our little Fumi is going to be someone amazing some day? I'm so looking forward to it!"

"Ah, you don't think I can make it, do you!" Fumi accused.

"Oh, you can tell?" Tamako grinned shamelessly.

"You're terrible!"

-

"Y'know, at this rate I might be better off having Kiyofumi inherit the restaurant instead," uncle Yukihira murmured to himself, "when he's around, we actually sell good food."

"Hey, your daughter is right over here!" Tamako snapped at him. "And don't sell me short, I actually do make good food! Like, sometimes..."

The guests at the tables laughed at that. Sure, Tamako's had some interesting breakthroughs, but many would agree they largely prefer not to be on the other end of most of her attempts.

"Fumi-pon is definitely the better cook!"

"He can cook, and he can bake, and he's adorable! He's the ideal wife!"

"Hey, don't advertise him."

The old men and ladies loved Kiyofumi, and honestly, who could blame them? Fumi was the ideal son. They've lost count of the number of times they were envious of Grandma Kiyo, to have such a golden egg at her beck and call.

In fact, he was almost entirely in charge of the bakery now. Grandma Kiyo was ready to retire anytime, at complete ease. Who wouldn't be jealous?

"I'm rated lower than a ten-year-old?" Tamako couldn't believe her ears.

Uncle Yukihira sighed.

"It almost feels like a waste to have him stay in this little shopping district."

-

Fumi was passionate about many things.

Making sweets was one thing, cooking was another thing. He wasn't lacking in his studies, and worked as hard as he could.

It happened one night, in the kitchen.

Stepping on a box to reach the table, the boy glided a palette knife through the chocolate on the tray. For hours, he simply practiced tempering chocolate.

When the clock struck for midnight, he decided that was enough.

Climbing another stack of boxes to reach the freezer, he retrieved a freshly done cheesecake from the top, deciding to use the chocolate as icing coating.

His attention drawn to the delicate cake, he closed the freezer door, and blindly reached for the second step down.

"Huh-- Uwaaah!"

The foothold he had been standing on came loose, and he fell backwards, hitting his head on the fridge as he collapsed.

"Oh, that hurts..."

A gasp ripped from his throat, and he sat up straight.

The cake he had been holding was entirely ruined, splattered over the ground face down, creating one hell of a mess. He couldn't suppress the despaired wail that spilled from his throat.

Usually, he had Tamako do the lifting work, but even so, he had never messed up this badly. Looks like the special cheesecake won't be on sale tomorrow...

He sat sprawled on the ground, boxes around him.

With a deep sigh, he brought up the willpower to at least clean up a little before Grandma Kiyo comes to check on the noise...

He tried to stand up-- only to flinch at a sharp pain at his ankle.

Had he sprained it during his fall?

A shadow moved. It was from above his head, so... he turned around, tilting his head upwards along the way.

He could only watch the steel microwave come down, and the next thing he knew was black.